salutosinedelectat | [For Westofeden][Reverse AU]

[ Perhaps it is the demon's nature that keeps him struggling to balance between the sense of almost ideal normalcy, and all that lies beneath their interactions. Perhaps it was the invite, the reminder, that have made them all too clear, much like someone afraid of heights traversing a particularly high rope and being told not to look down. He wants to not think about it, but have you ever tried to not think about something?

Still, he's a good enough actor, or so he thinks, to keep on pretending to be fine until he is. The cake and promise of wine help. ]

I'll get you yet, angel. [ He teases, which is not entirely a ruse. ] You really don't know what you're missing out on.

Hmm.

[ He hums noncommittally, watching the road instead of Zirafell. That's the problem. He knows exactly what he's missing out on. He's had six thousand years to imagine it, to observe Zira, to know him better than he's ever known another living being - and yet it's still not nearly enough. Not anything close to what he wants.

He can't say any of that, of course. Ostensibly they're talking about cake. ]

Well, I suppose I've gotten this far without it.

[ It's much better to talk about cake. Cake is simple, and yet complex, in all its intricacies. A good cake has many different characteristics to consider, such as flavor, dryness, texture. There's a lot that can be said about cake. There's a lot that can be said about enjoying cake. And there's a lot of time the demon can try to convince the angel to actually try cake, in a pointless little quest to tempt him (tempt, with the small t, and not Tempt) into enjoying harmless decadence. All of it is quite more enjoyable than the irritating words that keep floating about the air. ]

Oh, you're no fun. [ The demon tuts, in a pout of a tone. ]

[ No fun? Crowley frowns, offended, and it's only partly for show. Michael is no fun. Uriel is no fun. By angel standards, Crowley's a blast. ]

I'm fun.

[ The demon catches that tone. He glances in the angel's direction for a moment, and, despite what the day, the week has been, even that does not take away the hint of satisfaction he gets out of that. ]

Oh? Are you? [ Asks the hedonist by trade. ]

Course I am.

[ There's a pause, as he waits for the demon to confirm this. Instead, there's only silence.

Crowley glances over, frown deepening. ]

I'm loads of fun. Everyone knows that.

Sure, sure.

[ Eyes kept on the road again. Maybe riling up the angel is not the best move given their current circumstances, but it's really hard to resist. ]

Just a tad bit.... [ He trails off, and it's most definitely a trap. ]

[ A trap that Crowley walks freely into. He waits, again, for the demon to finish his thought. When he doesn't... ]

A tad bit what?

[ Oh, you poor lovely angel you. ]

Unadventurous. [ He had to finish that off with an unnecessarily expensive word, of course. ]

But that's all quite alright. Just more delectable, scrumptious sachertorte for me to enjoy. All by my myself.

Unadventurous.

[ Crowley mulls over this for a moment. He's not sulking, he's mulling.

Unfortunately, all his mulling doesn't result in any kind of helpful response. ]

Hmph.

[ Zirafell lets that sink in (entirely unaware of just how badly that could have gone, in his search for something a bit more entertaining, and in a clear show of his incredible ability of both overthinking things and never thinking them through), sitting in silence for a few seconds. ]

You could prove me wrong. [ He suggests, very subtly. ]

[ Luckily for them both, things haven't gone badly. Yet. There's still plenty of time for either or both of them to make another misstep, to say or do something whose consequences can't be dodged. ]

Could I?

[ Now, at least, he's wary. Now, at least, he has the smidgen of self-preservation instinct necessary to be wary of potential traps.

Now that it's likely too late.

He casts a suspicious glance Zirafell's way, careful not to look away from the road too long. (Never mind that they can't die and he could miraculously prevent any accidents anyway. Being a conscientious driver is just the right thing to do.) ]

And how, precisely, would I do that? Eat a slice of cake?

[ Eating a slice of cake would likely be the simplest and safest way for him to do just that, and he should count himself lucky to be asked to prove his adventurousness by something as unadventerous as eating dessert. Unfortunately, there's a hint of sarcasm in his tone, challenging the demon for something more. ]

[ Ah, yes, the wild adventure of indulging in tasty desserts. Nothing to do with the fact that he'd be enjoying them with the demon, of course, much less a demon that has solidified his demonic career as an hedonistic temper, quite possibly as an excuse to follow those indulgences himself and write them off as leading by example, or manipulating others into overindulgence.

Or maybe, just maybe, he enjoys teasing the angel with such topics. He would never attempt to use his Demonic Temptation on him to begin with, but temptation with a lowercase t is fair game. Plus there's something quite endearing about the angel when he's mad.

But that's neither here nor there.]

Yes. For starters. [ He's quick to add.]

[ He's not mad. A bit defensive, yes, perhaps. But who wouldn't be, when faced with such harsh accusations from what is supposed to be a friendly quarter? Demon or not, Zirafell's always been much more ready to have Crowley's back than anyone Upstairs. Even if he would never say as much. ]

For starters.

[ He should ask exactly what Zirafell means by that. What else might be included in this little - bargain? Dare? What exactly is he getting himself into? But he's eager not to be called unadventurous again, or anything else disparaging, and accepting whatever it is Zira's proposing without asking a load of questions beforehand seems like a good first step towards proving that he is, in fact, Fun. ]

Well, I could certainly do that. If I wanted.

[ Ah, blessed angel, easy enough to coax into shenanigans with just the right words. Not that Zirafell would ever take advantage of that fact with any malicious intent, whether by the demon's own nature or the fact that the angel is his dearest friend, but that doesn't mean he won't get a few things out of that play. Usually it doesn't really stray too far from just keeping the angel's attention when he wants it.

Still, his eagerness to prove himself with just carelessness is really very, very tantalizing, and the demon has really never been one for self restrain.]

If you wanted, sure. But you don't. [ He sighs out quite dramatically.]

I suppose I'll have to find someone else to share my tasty treats with...

[ Like he won't just eat most, if not all of the cake before he steps out of the flat again.]

Someone else?

[ Crowley looks mortally wounded. And a bit worried. He knows he's being ridiculous, but he can't help wondering. Is there someone else the demon is enjoying cake with? Had he finally determined that Crowley, well, just wasn't enough for him? ]

You said you'd have to enjoy it by yourself.

[ Subconsciously, the demon is sure he's shown the angel how much his company and presence are appreciated above all else (within reasonable levels of demonstration, of course), and believes that his overdramatic tones and expressions make it clear that such words as how he's speaking now are mere teasing, challenges, that the demon is entirely too entertained by riling the angel up.

Perhaps he may be assuming too much. Perhaps he sends mixed messages, or doesn't get his points across. Right now, he's far too distracted by his current attempt at convincing the angel to partake in delicious cake with him.]

Oh, I can't eat this all by myself. [ He will.] And it certainly can't go to waste.

But if I could find someone to share it with...

[ C'mon, angel, he can't play it more obvious than this, it's not his style.]

[ It's difficult to know for certain, sometimes. Yes, of course Crowley knows Zirafell enjoys his company. That Zira is...fond of him, at least as much as demons are capable of being fond of anyone. He even believes that Zira cares for his well-being, that he's careful to keep their Arrangement under wraps not only to protect himself, but to protect Crowley as well.

But, demons being what they are, of course Zira never acknowledges any of it out loud. And Crowley would never ask, would never push him, for fear of taking liberties, of scaring Zirafell off. So here they are. And Crowley would like to believe that the demon's only teasing, that he doesn't have any other friends-with-dessert-benefits on the side. But who can say for sure?

He scowls, slouching into his seat as he pulls up in front of his flat. ]

Hmph.

[ Zirafell waits for some sort of answer, acknowledgement, or at least some sort of retort. When none of that comes up, he finally looks over at the angel and eyes him expectantly. And then just curiously.]

Well, we're here. [ He eventually breaks the silence, casually.]

Shall we get on?

What?

Oh. Yes. Course.

[ He shakes himself off, pull yourself together, angel, and gives Zirafell a smile. He gestures to the cake. ]

Got that? Want me to carry it?

[ That's better. As much as it amuses him to tease the angel and see how fussed up he gets, he does so like to see him smile.

Not that he thinks about how the angel smiles and how much it brightens his sharp features, certainly. ]

I've got it. [ He taps the box on his lap. The sunlight reflects on his several silver rings. ]

If I'm going to be eating it on my own, I might as well carry it. [ This time there's a shameless smile to the comment. ]

[ By now, at least, Crowley's managed to gather up a few shreds of his dignity again, or at least what passes for it. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly at Zirafell's teasing, shaking his head. ]

Right, right. [ Well, maybe he will try a bite or two. Who knows? He ducks his head, unfolding one long limb after another until he's standing next to the car, and then remembers the wine he'd - somewhat foolishly, he feels now - brought along, and retrieves it from the backseat. ]

Didn't - [ He looks at Zira sheepishly, attempting an explanation. ] Didn't know if you'd want to drink it there, or...

[ Zirafell climbs out of the car as well, the cake safely nestled in his arms. He gives the bottle a look, and, for just a fraction of a moment, it might seem like the shadow of some faint guilt passes through his features. But it might've just been a trick of the light.]

In the park, angel? I'm not sure that's quite allowed. [ With all of the same teasing tone as before, accusatory but harmless.]

And I'm supposed to be the tempter.

[ His shoes click against the sidewalk as he heads towards the building(At least they're supposed to be shoes.) .]

Edited 2020-07-01 14:24 (UTC)

[ Oh. Crowley freezes, just staring at Zirafell for a moment before he looks down at the bottle, giving it a betrayed, accusing look. ]

I...didn't think of that.

[ He hadn't been thinking much at all, actually, but never mind. Never mind, Zira's here now, there's cake and wine and - everything's going to be fine. With another disappointed frown at the bottle, he moves to catch up with Zirafell, opening the front door. ]

Well, go on in.

[ The flat is immaculate, the antithesis of Zira's cluttered rat's nest of a bookshop. There are plants everywhere - the greenest, lushest, and most beloved plants in London. Crowley has taste and isn't afraid to show it, but instead of the cold minimalism that some flats owned by those with Expensive Taste can tend towards, this one is warm and inviting, with a gentle golden light cascading through the windows and all the furniture so soft it looks as though you could sink into it and never want to get out again. He heads straight for the kitchen - they've got the wine and food already, might as well get started. ]

Make yourself comfortable, of course.

[ There's always something about this flat, something just at the back of the demon's mind, that makes him feel like he shouldn't be here. It's not a critique on the decor, or any sort of adversion toward it - quite the contrary. The place is warm, and inviting, and cozy, and comfortable, and some distant, muffled voice whispers to him that he shouldn't be in that sort of place. He ignores it, usually.

He follows the angel into the kitchen, not bothering to take off his coat. He glances around behind his shades like he expects to see anything different. Or that's just how he looks at things.]

How are the plants fairing?

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Oh he's in trouble now

he's BEEN in trouble

He can handle trouble!!

can he...

...maybe....

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They are both disasters

they sure are

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When you see it: I'll have you know that my phone original autocorrected "riling" to "railing"

they'll get there

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